


To Be Precise

by OwlrageousJones



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Espionage, Major Original Character(s), Moral Ambiguity, Multi, POV Original Character, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26528644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlrageousJones/pseuds/OwlrageousJones
Summary: Justice means many things to different people. For some, it means the protection of the innocent. For others, it means the punishment of evil.For Cipher Pol Agent Cheshire, Justice is a clean, orderly world where everything has its place, and if he has to get his hands dirty to help that world come to fruition, then he will.
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue

"Alright, scallywags! Remember! We're layin' low here, don't start no trouble. We'll get our supplies and then get going before the dogs get our scent." The Captain, a tall imposing man with a long blood red moustache that had been braided together to form a long chain reaching down to his waist cast a harsh eye over his crew - before he broke into a grin. "Shore leave for five days!"

The crew gave a small cheer, and set about finishing their duties, tying the ship to the docks, and rushing about under the captain's watchful eye. He was distracted a moment after by the feeling of something soft rubbing against his ankles, and when he glanced down, he found the crew's unofficial 'mascot' winding between his legs - a small, sleek tuxedo cat.

"Prrrt?" the cat chirped, looking up at him with its wide green eyes.

The Captain smiled down at him, beatifically. "You want some shore leave too, Mittens? Go on. Go enjoy yourself for a bit."

The cat didn't need any further encouragement and trotted down the gangplank with its tail held high, and the bustling crew parted for it on reflex. It didn't hesitate on the unfamiliar streets, cantering along the winding streets and alleyways. On and on its path went, pausing only here and there to scan its surroundings as if in search of something before continuing, until finally it arrived at its destination.

"Awww, aren't you a handsome little fella?" the Marine standing guard cooed, squatting down to pet the cat.

The cat preened under his hand, wound its way between his legs with a gentle purr, and then continued on into the garrison unimpeded, tail gently flicking.

There were a few glances at the cat as it pursued in, but none of them moved to stop it although more than one attempted to pet it - which it graciously allowed.

It weaved into the building, past the administration, and all the way to the office that overlooked the garrison courtyard.

The pair of marines standing guard glanced down at it, and it in turn looked up at them, sitting on its haunches with the imperious air that only cats could manage. "Uh… shoo?" One of them said, waving a hand at it.

The cat gave him an unimpressed look - before it reached up to its collar and twisted the small pendant at the front, letting it pop open to reveal the symbol of the World Government, and the number 'five' laid over it. "Agent Cheshire of CP5, reporting in to see the officer in charge."

The guards froze, too shocked to do anything.

'Cheshire' sighed, and just leapt up past them, front paws landing on the handle, his body weight lowering it enough for the door to swing open. "Gentlemen," he said breezily as he landed, strutting past them.

The office was tastefully, if minimally, decorated, and the sole occupant, seated behind a heavy desk, was currently face down in a pile of paperwork. Her light green hair was done up in what looked as though it had begun as a neat orderly bun before the day wore on, and her captain's coat had been hung on the back of her chair.

One of the guards caught his wits at last. "S-Sir, the Captain did not want-"

Cheshire ignored him. "Captain Melon," he declared, voice soft but loud, "Wake up."

She did, instantly snapping up. "Aha! I was only pretending to be asleep!" she crowed, her glasses askew on her face even as she pointed at the thoroughly unimpressed agent. "... it's a cat. Guards, why is there a cat in my office?"

"I am Agent Cheshire, CP5," Cheshire stated, sitting on his haunches with the serious air only a cat could muster, "And you have a piece of paper stuck to your face, Captain."

She swiped it off her face and assumed a serious countenance. "Right! Agent! I was expecting you! Just… not expecting you." She paused. "You're here to report on the Tirebrand Pirates?"

Cheshire resisted the urge to sigh. "Firebrand Pirates," he corrected.

She pointed at him again. "Aha! I was only pretending-"

"Fifty strong in number," he continued, ignoring her eccentricity with the goal of just getting this meeting over with before his blood pressure got any worse, "Weapons are substandard for the West Blue, but they have recently come into some wealth and will likely be looking to upgrade their armament." His tail flicked sharply. "Captain Dormun 'Firebrand' Flakey managed to obtain and consume a devil fruit on his journey. He has termed it the Blow-Blow Fruit based on its powers."

Melon adopted her serious countenance once again, shuffling through her papers. "Firebrand… his bounty was quite small, wasn't it? Currently ten million." She narrowed her eyes. "If he has a devil fruit, that'll have to be adjusted..."

Cheshire shifted slightly, and his tone was decidedly non-committal. "His powers are in their infancy. He has yet to learn how to utilise them to their fullest. The crew are currently on shore leave and attempting to lay low. My recommendation? Eliminate them tonight, when their guard is lowest, before Firebrand learns to use his powers effectively."

She gave him a scrutinising look. "If you feel that he's such a potential threat, agent, why didn't you eliminate him yourself?"

He frowned. "My orders were to gather intelligence and report to the first Marine outpost I could reach," he stated, a little stiffly, "And I have just fulfilled them."

"Aha! I was only pretending-"

"I am requisitioning the use of a Den Den Mushi so that I may report back to my superiors," he said blandly, ignoring her outburst.

She narrowed her eyes, but after a moment, let out a small sigh, and gestured to the one on her desk. "I suppose you'll want privacy as well?" she said dryly, "You have some nerve kicking a captain out of their own office, although I suppose as a cat, that's to be expected."

Agent Cheshire didn't say anything in response, and just sat there silently.

"I need to go for a walk anyway," Melon declared, "Boys, make sure our guest isn't interrupted." She swept her coat off her chair and onto her shoulders and strode out, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she did.

Cheshire just waited for the doors to close behind him. His fuzzy ears wiggled in a way that might've been cute if he wasn't checking for eavesdroppers. Dialing with paws was always a pain, so after a moment of preparation, he took a deep breath… and in the apparent blink of an eye, where there was a serious and haughty tuxedo cat, there was a serious and haughty young man. A serious, haughty and completely naked man.

He reached out to steady himself as he wavered on his feet, feeling decidedly unsteady after spending several weeks on four legs. His hand hovered above the table, and he reached for a box of tissues first, snatching one to use as an impromptu barrier before he very nearly collapsed against the table. A second tissue served as a barrier to allow him to begin dialing.

"Purupu-gatcha." The snails eyes shifted into a narrow stare matched by a wide grin. " _This day? I wish you well,_ " the snail said, in clipped tones, " _Who have you reached? Toby's Tailoring. What can we do for you? Dress you well._ "

"Cheshire reporting in from Palmertown. Confirmation code One-Eight-One-Six, Romeo-Charlie-Foxtrot."

The snail's expression didn't change. " _Response code? Five-Five-Zero-Three, India-Golf-Tango. Cheshire? Welcome back._ "

"I've delivered my report to the captain on base. Firebrand's are matching predictions, but the Captain recently obtained a Devil Fruit; I am not familiar with its official name, but he has termed it the Blow-Blow Fruit. It appears capable of generating gusts of wind." Cheshire paused. "He wields it clumsily, and amateurishly, but he has only had the fruit for a week."

The snail was silent. " _This information? It has been noted. What am I requesting? Further information, if at all possible._ "

"No, sir."

" _Cheshire? Here are your new orders. Your destination? The city of Goldenwalk, at the Isla del Costa. The briefing? Agent Hatter has provided intelligence that a large shipment is due to arrive. It's importance? Currently unknown. The mission? Identify the shipment, and retrieve it if at all possible. If not? Destroy it._ "

He frowned. He'd just finished his last mission, and he was already moving to the next? At least this one didn't call for an extended period as a cat again… at least, he hoped so. He already wasn't looking forward to adjusting back to life on two legs as it was. "Theories?"

" _Theories? It's likely a devil fruit. My suggestion? Stay vigilant, Agent._ "

He sighed, and resisted the urge to facepalm. "Yes, sir. Will I at least be able to requisition my own Den Den Mushi for this?" He gave the office an aside glance. "Local authorities do not appreciate the necessity of my presence."

" _Your orders? They've been given. Agent? Dismissed._ Gatcha."

"... I suppose that's a negative then," he muttered. Isla del Costa... that wasn't too far from here. He could hitch a ride on a merchant marine. If he paid in cash, he'd have to requisition funds from the garrison - couldn't exactly carry his own money as a cat.

No point in musing on it. He leapt for the open window, shifting back into cat form halfway so that he could balance himself on the sill.

To the Isla del Costa then.


	2. The Underworld Auction (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheshire starts to put out feelers and has almost instant payoff.

He began the day as he always did. Up at the crack of dawn, five minutes of meditation to center himself. Then he stepped into the small private bathroom to begin the day's ablutions. He sat on a seat, and carefully went through the process of cleaning himself with a bucket of water, stringently scouring at every inch until his skin was beginning to turn red and raw.  
  
He had his clothes already laid out on his bed - a clean, pressed formal suit, one of many identical ones. The only difference was the tie. Today was a green day. With careful, exacting precision, he began to dress himself - leather gloves first. _Always_ gloves first.  
  
Then, fully dressed, he paused to regard himself in the vanity mirror just long enough to even out any irregularities. Cufflinks adjusted, tie shifted, short dark hair carefully combed. He turned his head in every direction he could manage just to make sure he hadn't missed any spots when he was shaving (not that he had much to shave). He went so far as to break out a ruler just to make sure his sideburns had been trimmed to equal lengths.  
  
At last, what looked back at him was a waifish, bordering on gaunt, young man, with an apathetic, cold, severe expression - but most importantly, there wasn't a single thread out of place anywhere. Armored and ready, he checked his watch before he descended the stairs. He was ahead of schedule by three minutes.  
  
Breakfast was steamed milk and a pastry from a local cafe that was… _acceptably_ clean. He'd use the extra three minutes he had to review the day's schedule in his mind, alongside what he knew so far.  
  
Isla del Costa was a bright jewel in the West Blue, promising fun and relaxation to all who came to it. Thus, it attracted visitors from across not just the West Blue, but the other seas as well - those who had the wealth would come through Mary Geoise, and on that glut of money, the land of Isla del Costa became the shining attraction that it was. And like all glittering jewels, the scum thrived in the shadows, gnawing at the roots.  
  
They were bold here. They flaunted their illicit wealth and power, dangled the promises of forbidden pleasures like they were just another part of the city, and in a way, they were. His orders were only to report, so Cheshire would do nothing but observe for now, even if there was the urge to… _tidy up_ as it were.  
  
(Just as well, he abhorred violence and avoided it where he could. So intolerably _messy_.)  
  
Passive observation had let him identify several organisations within the city, each vying for territory and control, and it was with incredibly grudging appreciation that he noted that they seemed very careful to keep their skirmishes to the shadows. He could appreciate the professionalism in that.  
  
Information from Hatter said the object - whatever it was - would be arriving in two days, smuggled in by the Boxcar Pirates  
  
He took another bite of his pastry, letting the sweet jam spread across his tongue before he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin to collect any crumbs. He had two days to assess the situation at the Docks District, and determine who was likely to be obtaining the package. Of the organisations present, it could feasibly be any of them. All of them had an interest in the trafficking of illicit goods. But if this package was as important as Hatter had made it out to be, then they'd be preparing to receive it.  
  
He counted out exact change for his meal, plus ten percent for a tip, leaving the notes folded together, largest denomination on the inside, and coins sorted into exact piles.  
  
The time for passive observation was over. Now it was time to shake some trees and see what fell out. And that meant…  
  
 _Socialising._  
  


* * *

  
The Golden Falls Bar was one of the most intolerable places Cheshire had ever had the misfortune of finding himself in since he became an agent, just a few notches above that singular instance he had been forced to go through the sewers of a kingdom. His issue wasn't so much the hygiene of the place - it was, in fact, quite pleasantly clean.  
  
It was just that, like many bars, the Golden Falls was full of drunk idiots which was often enough to sour his mood. His work saw him through many bars though, so he had been forced to grow an unwilling tolerance for the noisy dens of stupid and rash decision making. Even the live music, played by a band that might've been pleasant if they hadn't insisted on playing a genre of music that he could only describe as 'Beach Jazz', was at least tolerable. No, what infuriated him beyond the pale was… the theme.  
  
He was going to find whoever decided that pineapple's made good lanterns and he was going to beat their brains out with one of their own damnable creations. And the uniforms! Grass skirts? _Coconut bras_? It was taking everything he had not to drag these poor unfortunate souls to a tailor.  
  
"Here," a voice drawled, "On the house. You look like you could lighten up, boy." And then a hurricane glass slid over, filled to the brim with something… blue and fruity. It had an umbrella. He looked up to find himself being served by a large, brawny man whose current state of undress (he appeared to be wearing a grass skirt and nothing elsel) demonstrated enough body hair to be declared a forest.  
  
Cheshire quietly added 'unkempt grooming' to the list of sins this bar had committed against good taste. "I'll have a glass of milk, please. Cow is preferable, but I will take goat."  
  
The Bartender raised an eyebrow. "Ain't old enough to drink? I figured you were young, but that's a little too young ain't it, boy?" Regardless, he pulled a carton of milk from a fridge, and after a moment, he slid a glass tumbler full of milk in front of the unimpressed agent.  
  
"Thank you," he said, a little stiffly as he raised the glass and took a small sip. Ah. He was feeling calmer already.  
  
The Bartender leaned forward. "So. What's a little boy like you doing in a place like this?" he added with a small leer.  
  
And there goes the calm. He resisted the urge to lean back to reclaim his _extremely_ important personal space, although no amount of distance would save him from smelling the man's last meal on his breath. _Heavens give me strength, he has snaggleteeth._ He kept his gaze focused on the man's eyes as best he could, lest he do something they'd both regret. "Business. My employer is looking to make some deals, and I have been sent to see what's available."  
  
The Bartender's gaze sharpened slightly, and there was a predatory tension entirely different to the previous one. "Oh? They sent such a young boy on this kind of errand?"  
  
He took another, slow controlled sip, and tried not to think too hard about how easy it would be to smash the glass and use it to slit the man's throat. For starters, there'd be blood _everywhere_ and that was always a pain to clean out of his clothes. "They did."  
  
Another scrutinising look. "Well, what kind of business are you here to conduct, boy?"  
  
It's Cheshire's turn to scrutinise the bartender now. It's an act. He already knows the Bartender. A broker and a middle man despite his… ridiculous attire. The best way to approach criminal organisations was through someone else, and individuals like him were perfect for it. Always eager to pad their wallets with cash. "I have been reliably informed that you could be of some help in this endeavour, Mr Trantel."  
  
He had his attention now - the fish was hooked, now to reel it in.  
  
"My employer has obtained something of great value that they wish to liquidate." He reached into his jacket and pulled a simple photograph out and slid it towards the now very interested bartender. "Tell me, Mr Trantel. Would you happen to know anyone interested in acquiring some rare produce?"  
  
His eyes widened and he lifted the photograph to examine it closer. "This real?"  
  
A slight twitch. "You do understand that I could hardly bring the object in question with me?" he said, injecting as much dry humour as he could despite the irritation. "I assure you, the product in the picture is _exactly_ what you think it is." He wasn't lying either. Of course, the fruit in question had been eaten a long time ago - they just kept the photo for documentation purposes.  
  
"... I'll make a few calls," the bartender murmured, "How quickly can you move it?"  
  
Cheshire made a show of checking his watch and considering the question. "How quickly can you arrange a buyer?"  
  
The answer turned out to be: very quickly. The Bartender had been gone for maybe a handful of minutes, and then he'd ushered Cheshire into a VIP room to wait, left sitting in a plush armchair across from a coffee table and a few others.  
  
After around ten minutes (eleven minutes, thirty four seconds - he was counting), the door swung open again, and he was hit with the overwhelming smell of cologne. It wasn't bad cologne, in all honesty, and in the quantities he was detecting, it was probably even a tasteful amount of it - but ever since he had eaten the Cat-Cat Fruit all those years ago, his sense of smell had been irrevocably sharpened, so a 'tasteful amount' of cologne to a regular person was absolutely _choking_ to Cheshire.  
  
"Mmmmboy, I heard you had something to, mmmmmm, sell?" Hands laden with gaudy jewelry slapped onto his shoulders, and it took just about everything Cheshire had not to lash out at the unfamiliar contact as the smell of cologne intensified. As he forced his fists to unclench lest he form claws and puncture his favourite pair of gloves, he took the time to study the speaker's hands. Their fingers were thick, resembling pork sausages to his eyes, and the golden silk of the suit sleeve suggested wealth even more than the gaudy rings did. Despite that, he could see the restraint in those hands.  
  
Someone to be careful of.  
  
"That is correct," he said, managing to sound like he wasn't forcing the words through a cheese grater, "Am I to understand that you can help my employer liquidate the product?"  
  
"Mmmhmhmhmhmhmhmhm!" It took Cheshire a moment to realise that they were _laughing_. "That's correct, mmmmmyes." Finally, they released his shoulders and sauntered around, sitting down in the chair across from him.  
  
He looked like an egg. It was… really the only word Cheshire could think to describe them. No neck. No waist or hips, just… round. Just an egg someone painted a face on, dressed in a golden silk suit. Admittedly, a very well painted egg, with delicate eyelashes and a face that would've been handsome if the rest of him wasn't so off-putting.  
  
"This fruit, boy, do you know, mmmmm, its name?" he murmured, thick fingers laced together.  
  
Cheshire resisted the urge to brush his shoulders off alongside the more powerful urges to steam clean his entire suit. "I'm afraid we do not have that information. We understand that this may reduce the potential value for the product."  
  
"Mmmmmhmhmhmhmhmhmhm, that's true, mmmmmyes. But I'm sure we can still fetch an incredible, mmmm, price." The Eggman shifted slightly. "You're just in, mmmmm, luck boy. A grand auction will be occurring, mmmmmyes, in just a few days time with a very, mmmmmm, special headline item." He leaned forward, a calculating glint in his disturbingly soulful blue eyes. "Of course, like any auction, there can only be one, mmmmm, winner. But! I'm sure that this fine product will make for quite the, mmmmmm, consolation prize."  
  
Well. This was easier than he'd expected. A grand auction with a special headline item? One where a devil fruit was considered a consolation prize? Whatever it was, it had to be big.  
  
"Now, boy, we'll need to, mmmmmm, verify the product of course. I understand that you're the, mmmmmm, representative?"  
  
Cheshire calmly folded his hands in his lap. "That is correct. I have full authority to negotiate price however. I understand that the standard rate for an unknown devil fruit on the market is one hundred and fifty million beri."  
  
"Mmmmmno." Eggman twirled a finger through the air. "There is no 'standard rate' for devil fruits, of course - they are simply too, mmmmmm, rare for a standard price to form. This is, of course, an auction however, so I would not be, mmmmmm, surprised if it fetched that price. I believe the last fruit we auctioned fetched, mmmmmm, twice that."  
  
Now Cheshire himself was interested. If he kept records… "You've sold devil fruits before?"  
  
"Mmmmmyes. It was quite a few years ago, as it were. Alas, we weren't able to mmmm, identify it either… but that is the kind of price one can hope for at auction, mmmmhmhmhmhmhmhm!"  
  
And if he kept good records, then with any luck, the fruit itself could be tracked down - or its user. Devil Fruit users weren't likely to remain unknown for long, if they hadn't already died. "What kind of fee will you be taking?"  
  
He held up his hand, fingers just the tiniest crack apart. "Just a small, mmmmmm, fee. Twenty percent of the auction price."  
  
Cheshire snorted. "Small? You may as well take the fruit entirely. Five."  
  
"Mmmmhmhmhmhm," Eggman laugh-hummed, "You are an unknown - but I suppose I can do eighteen."  
  
"My employer would skin me alive if I accepted such an outrageous fee. Eight."  
  
Eggman just twirled another finger. "You must understand the mmmmmm, risks I am bearing. Fifteen."  
  
"A devil fruit is a one of a kind item. Ten." Cheshire leaned back, arms folded over his chest as he projected indifference.  
  
"Mmmmhmhmhmhm… and yet, we sold one just, mmmmmm, recently. Twelve."  
  
He drummed his fingers against his arm and pretended to mull it over. "A deal then." He held his hand and they shook on it, Eggman grinning madly with strangely perfect white teeth, and Cheshire coldly staring with dull green eyes. "I can arrange transport - I simply need to know where to send it."  
  
"Mmmmhmhmhmhmhm, no need for that, boy, mmmmmyes. Where are you staying?"  
  
"Paradise Hotel." He paused. "Room Twenty Five."  
  
Eggman nodded. "Then tomorrow we will come, mmmmmm, calling. Have the product ready." He stood up from his chair and began to leave the VIP room - only to pause at the door. "And boy? If you are wasting my, mmmmmm, time… then you will regret it, mmmmmyes."  
  
"Duly noted," Cheshire deadpanned, listening to the door click shut behind him. Damn it all, he still had the man's infuriating cologne clogging his nose.  
  
He waited a full hour - partly to regain his composure and make sure he was calm and partly to mentally readjust his schedule and plans - and then he left.  
  
He had some preparations to do.


	3. The Underworld Auction (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheshire performs surveillance and reconnaisance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone on the Butcher Bird Discord for helping me out with ideas and such.
> 
> If you haven't read 'The Butcher Bird', go do it. It's great.

The door to the hotel room swung open, and three figures stalked in, each dressed in a clean, grey pinstripe suit with golden silk ties. The apparent leader, a stern woman with her dark hair up in a neat odango style, swept her gaze over the room with a revolver in her hand. "Search the room," she ordered, and her compatriots didn't hesitate to do exactly that, sweeping out and turning out everything they could.  
  
The room, prior to their impromptu search, had been so carefully neat and maintained she would've assumed that its occupant had checked out and that housekeeping had come in - but the staff had assured her no such thing had occurred, and she trusted them not to lie to her. Not because they were inherently trustworthy, but because she knew they understood what lying meant.  
  
She swept her gaze around a second time to see if her subordinates had turned anything up that they, themselves, had missed. After five more minutes of searching, she tsked loudly. The staff had sworn, up and down, that the boy hadn't left the hotel - nobody had seen him. Certainly hadn't returned his key, and all of his luggage remained. None of the sentries who had been sent to watch him in case it turned out he _had_ been lying to the Boss had seen anything either - he'd returned to the room, and never left.  
  
The only conclusion she could draw was either the sentries were completely inept (the staff she could forgive for simply being hotel staff), or that the boy was a lot more dangerous than he looked.  
  
"Ain't found nothin' boss!"  
  
_Or_ , she mused dryly, _it could be both_. "I want a man watching this room at all times in case he returns. Anyone that goes in or out is a person of interest." She stepped through the open balcony door - it had never been closed, apparently. The sentries claimed he never tried to leap from here, and who would? It was a fifth story room. Perhaps to the other balconies? She glanced to either side and down below to see if she could see any traces. The only thing she saw was a cat curled up in the sun, blissfully unaware of all their troubles.  
  
"Search every floor," she commanded, "and the park as well. He may have jumped down."  
  
"Yes ma'am!"  
  
With her orders given, she swept out of the room and down to the lobby to wait for them to report back.  
  
But the men sweeping the hotel reported nothing, and the men sweeping the park reported nothing. Either they had missed the signs - entirely possible - but she was going to have to assume he had vanished.  
  
It was possible he snuck out another way, but they hadn't seen anything he could've used in the room. Was he a master of disguise? Had he just found a chink in their surveillance? She gnawed on her thumb, considering it.  
  
They had lost nothing except time, but she needed to know _why_ he did it. What was he hoping to achieve? "He learned about the Auction," she said softly, eyes wide. "I'm calling off the search! We're returning to headquarters. I want eyes peeled, you see anything or anyone following us, I want you to teach them their mistake."  
  
He was watching them. She had no doubt of that. Likely trying to find out where the auction was - she wasn't going to give him the chance. Was he part of a rival family? The Marines? It didn't matter.  
  
The Luciano Auction House was a veritable fortress.  
  
She settled in the carriage and waited for the rest of the men to saddle up before they set off, keeping her own eyes peeled out the sides of the carriage to see if there was anyone who might have been watching them from the rooftops. Try as she might, there was nothing to be noticed out of the ordinary, and none of her underlings - of dubious insight as they were - seemed to notice anything either.  
  
Eventually, the Carriage came to a rolling stop outside of the Lucky Duck Casino, and she wondered if he had been trying to follow them at all. She resolved not to let her guard down, come what may and stepped out. A flash of movement at her feet got her attention, but it turned out to just be a cat, trotting away with its tail held high.  
  
She was getting paranoid if she jumped at a _cat_.  
  
She passed into the hotel, heading down the stairs and past a 'Staff Only' sign to reach a heavy, iron door. She knocked on it twice and waited for the peephole to open, and she flashed the four leaf clover pin under her lapel.  
  
The door swung open, and the doorwoman stood aside with a small respectful nod.  
  
She returned it, and continued on, passing through the corridors and up the private stair well. The uppermost floors of the Lucky Duck Casino were populated entirely with members of the Luciano syndicate, and at the very top was the office of the don; bulletproof windows gave him a wonderful view of the bay.  
  
She knocked twice on the heavy mahogany doors.  
  
"Mmmmmm, come in, mmmmmyes."  
  
"Don Foglio," she greeted, giving him a respectful bow just as she stepped in, shutting the door behind her. "The boy is missing. We haven't been able to find any sign of him. I've instructed everyone to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity."  
  
Don Foglio looked up from the report he was reading, his pince-nez glasses just a few inches down his disturbingly well sculpted nose. "Mmmhmhmhmhmhm… I suspected as much. No doubt he is after the, mmmmmm, auction." Foglio's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We have run this, mmmmmm, auction for as long as there has been a town. Whoever he is working for… we will _not_ let him disrupt our legacy."  
  
"Do you think he's working with the other families, sir?"  
  
"Undoubtedly, my dear Lemone. The Five Families have been in turmoil ever since their Dons have found themselves under threat of, mmmmmm, assassination. Like clockwork. Every few months, another Don dies. And just a few months ago, Don Moran had his, mmmmmm, turn." Strictly speaking, the Luciano Family was not one of the 'Five' - but of the 'lesser' families, they were one of the foremost. If Capone Bege had tired of knocking over the others, he might be seeking new toys… but he'd find Don Foglio a tougher nut to crack.  
  
Lemone stiffened. "You expect an assassin?"  
  
"I _always_ expect an assassin, my dear. Redouble the, mmmmmm, security. The auction is in only five days." He twirled a pen in his fingers. "One way or another, Lemone, this will be the event of the… mmmmmm, decade."  
  
She nodded. "As you say sir," she said, giving him one more bow before leaving to carry out his orders.  
  
As she passed through the hallway, she paused. Sitting on the window sill at the end of the hallway… was a cat; from what she could see of it's back, it was pitch black. It seemed enamored with the view and hadn't noticed her, but it was still a curious sight all the same. A sign of bad luck? Well, she was hardly superstitious.  
  
Besides, she had other, more pressing things to worry about than who brought in a cat.  
  


* * *

  
There was no sign of anything odd, certainly nothing that her men reported. She was beginning to wonder if there was anything at all - if the boy had just retreated, vanished. But she didn't let her guard down, and she made sure her underlings did the same.  
  
As night fell, they locked down an area of the docks until it was teeming with men and women in suits, brandishing semi-automatic weaponry at anyone who so much as looked at them at all. The Boxcars would be arriving a little past midnight according to the last transmission, and the cargo would be exchanging hands here.  
  
Lemone had strict orders to pay them in lead and blood, but that was just business. Double crossing pirates was nothing dishonorable. There was honor among thieves and scoundrels, and then there were _pirates_ , after all. 'Do what you want because a pirate is free' was just a friendlier way of admitting you had no code, no honor and no respect for any such things.  
  
Don Foglio wanted it done quickly, and their ship scuttled. Any bounties that could be claimed, would be claimed, but otherwise, the less evidence a deal had occurred at all, the better. And it was her job to see it through.  
  
She swept her gaze along the warehouses of the docks, searching for anything out of place. She knew her men well, so if anyone were to try to infiltrate the ranks, she'd be able to pick them out easily. The only living things she could see aside from her loyal underlings, were a handful of rats and a cat perched up on a crate and watching the proceedings with interest.  
  
For a moment, their eyes met, her stormy gray against dull green. It seemed familiar to her, in some way. She'd seen a few cats today, but it wasn't as though cats were particularly _rare_ animals. She used to feed a stray ginger on the docks when she was younger. Hm. Maybe she should get a cat…?  
  
"Ma'am, the _High Roller_ has been sighted," one of her lieutenants interjected, saluting her smartly.  
  
She turned to face him. "Punctual pirates. I can't tell if that's a good sign or a bad one. The patrols?"  
  
He shook his head. "No sign of anything. A few looked curious, but they kept their distance." He cast a glance around. "Still on edge, ma'am?"  
  
"Don Foglio wants this airtight, Darikus," she said simply, "so it's going to be airtight."  
  
"Yes ma'am." Darikus saluted again, and resumed his patrol.  
  
She glanced back at where the cat was still sitting, but it was no longer staring at her. It seemed to have lost interest in the going ons of the dock and had returned to its nap.  
  
The Boxcar's ship, the _High Roller_ , began to pull into the dock, and she straightened up. The Boxcars numbered thirty odd men - she had more than twice that manning the docks, with superior firepower besides, but they wanted this done quickly - and more than that, they wanted to loot the ship for valuables if at all possible. She gave the hidden gunners the signal, and she knew they were going to be positioning the artillery appropriately.  
  
A platoon of the Boxcars piled out, led by the man she knew was their captain. He was so short, someone might've mistaken him for a child if it weren't for the thick, scraggly beard he sported and the aged, weathered face. "Ah, my dear Lemone," he called, striding along with his men flanking him on all sides. "Don Foglio told me you would be waiting for us."  
  
"That's correct. I trust you have the goods?"  
  
The Boxcar Captain chuffed. "Do you have the payment?"  
  
Lemone clicked her fingers, and three of her men stepped forward, each holding a briefcase. "Three hundred million beris, as agreed. Do you have it?" Each of them clicked the briefcases open to reveal stacks of beris, all bundled together neatly and tidily.  
  
"Heh. Ol' Foglio's good for the money, as always. I do indeed, have it!" Every eye in the docks was focused intently on him as he reached into his jacket and withdrew… a book. A plain, leather book. "Shall we perform the trade, same as always, Lemone?"  
  
She nodded. "Of course, Captain Dudescy." At her gesture, the men all sat the briefcases down on a crate at one side, and then backed away as she approached it.  
  
Captain Dudescy, for his part, moved to a barrel a fair distance away and set the book down. They both turned and faced each other, and moved at steady even paces. Each of them reached their goal, and examined it carefully as tensions ratcheted.  
  
Then, all at once, the Luciano Family opened fire. A hail of machine gun fire cut down the men that had come with the captain, and the three who had carried the briefcases had already opened fire on Dudescy. Platoons of suited men and women rushed up the gangplank, guns blazing as they moved to overwhelm the Boxcar Pirates with the element of surprise.  
  
It was an overwhelming massacre. Many of the Boxcars died before they could so much as draw their weapons - and of those that did manage, few managed to get off more than a parting shot.  
  
When the dust settled, Lemone regarded the resulting carnage with an apathetic eye. "Someone take Dudescy's head," she said dispassionately, "He had a bounty worth twenty million. Throw the bodies to the sea, and clean this mess up. Excellent work everyone."  
  
Her orders dispensed, she headed back to her carriage, flanked by a squad of her men, and headed back to the Lucky Duck.  
  
Up from his vantage point on a warehouse roof, safe away from the carnage, Cheshire watched her go in cold, deadly silence.  
  


* * *

  
Using a hotel, whilst pleasant (and billable as an expense), would have risked the attention of the Luciano Family, so he was forced to retreat elsewhere - to the spartan expanse of a studio apartment that served as a Cipher Pol Safehouse in the city's residential district.  
  
Unfortunately, nobody had been present in many months, and they certainly weren't going to hire a housekeeper, so the moment he entered, he was greeted with the smell of stale air… _and dust_.  
  
Cheshire, with slow and calm precision, pulled a clean, black linen mask from his pocket and secured it around his mouth and nose. Another gradual, deliberate movement retrieved something folded together - and with a sharp movement, it clicked out to reveal a feather duster. Finally, with a small breath, he felt his body stiffen and grow in the blink of an eye, leaving him… marginally larger than he was before. There was a fine coating of fur across his body, his hands had thickened slightly and the tips of claws were just protruding from his fingers, and a sleek, shiny black tail thrashed behind him in time with the wiggling of the satiny black ears atop his head.  
  
With the added boost of strength and agility his hybrid form granted him… he began to clean. He became a veritable whirlwind of movement, a localised cyclone of dusting and wiping, and nothing was safe from his furious hygiene.  
  
He swept open the refrigerator and was immediately assaulted by the smell of rotting food and moldy dairy. He produced a black bag from another pocket and emptied the contents into it with lightning efficiency before tying it off with a few quick strokes of a clawed hand.  
  
It was only when the entire safehouse was spotless that he finally paused and allowed himself to return to his 'normal' state, although he kept the mask on for the time being. The feather duster was stowed away, and the cloth he'd been using to wipe was rinsed and left to dry by the window, and at long last, Cheshire walked over to the Den Den Mushi that had bore witness to everything that had just happened… and dialled a number.  
  
"Purupuru-gatcha." The plain and unadorned snail's eyes opened, a slight squint to its gaze as its mouth spread into a teasing smirkl.  
  
"This is Agent Cheshire, authorisation code One-Eight-One-Six, Romeo-Charlie-Foxtrot."  
  
The snail moved its mouth, but only made faint noises.  
  
"... I repeat, this is Agent Cheshire, authorisation code One-Eight-One-Six, Romeo-Charlie-Foxtrot."  
  
Still no response.  
  
Cheshire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hatter - turn around, and face the snail. You _know_ it can't transmit properly unless you're talking directly to it."  
  
There was a moment of silence, and then it began speaking. " _Oops~ Right, where was I? Ah, the object. Have you identified it, Cheshire?_ " Hatter spoke with a smokey contralto, with just a hint of something teasing to their voice.  
  
"Partially. It appears to be a book. The Luciano Family was offering to pay the Boxcar Pirates three hundred million for it - they reneged on the deal however, and executed the Boxcars. Captain 'Double Six' Dudecy will likely be exchanged for his bounty at the marine garrison tomorrow morning."  
  
" _Interesting. Have you retrieved it?_ "  
  
"Negative. The Luciano's were armed with semi automatic weaponry and severely outnumbered me. I have a plan to retrieve it, if necessary." Cheshire paused. "Will it be necessary?"  
  
"' _If you can't retrieve it, destroy it' was what Grimm said,_ " Hatter drawled, " _Better to be on the safe side of things. He trusts you to use your discretion. Anything else to report?_ "  
  
He shifted, drumming his fingers on the countertop for a moment. "The Luciano's run a black market auction. They claim to have sold a devil fruit some years ago."  
  
" _Huhuhu… do you really need me to say it, Cheshire? You'll never get promoted if you don't show some initiative, you know~_ "  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "I have no desire to be promoted, Hatter," he said primly, "And I am only asking because I have the opportunity to do so."  
  
The Den Den Mushi rolled its eyestalks. " _Fine, fine. I'm just your colleague, not your boss, Cheshire so I can't give you orders - but I'd suggest going for it. Record what information you can. Anything else I can help you with, Chesh-ire~?_ "  
  
"No, thank you. You've done plenty. Until next time, Hatter." He hung up the receiver, and paused to give the snail a gentle pat on the eyestalks.  
  
He began to hum thoughtlessly to himself as he began to plot. He had… four days before the auction, if that. Four days day to get in and swipe the book from a heavily guarded mafia fortress when they would be on high alert.  
  
"Really," he mumbled softly, "This is going to be like taking candy from a baby."


End file.
